


Anesthesia

by LadyBinary



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: ASMR, Alien Abduction, Anesthesia, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blindfolds, Drugs, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Petting, Medical Device, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Needles, No Plot/Plotless, Other, Pain, Personal Attention, Platonic Cuddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Suggestive Themes, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinary/pseuds/LadyBinary
Summary: In which you (the Reader) awaken, woozy and strapped to an exam table, surrounded by large shadowy figures being very attentive and nice to you. :">Inspired by ASMR medical examination scenarios; just some good ol' gratuitous medical-kink attentionporn. Nondescript reader can self-insert any human gender identity. Does it count as PWP if it's nonsexual?Note: if needles squick you out, skip chapter 2.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Their voices are the first to wind through the fog: soft, hazy, indistinct. Scattered words float past,  _ specimen  _ and  _ readings,  _ devoid of meaning. Gradually, as the fog clears, the words begin to resolve. 

"- showing signs of consciousness. Increase the dose."

The air becomes thick and sweet, heavy on your tongue. Something is resting over your lower face, the smooth material fitted flush like a mask. There is light from above - uncomfortably bright. You squint through blurred vision. These shadowed silhouettes above you… surely, their towering size is just your imagination, some trick of the light as it bleeds through the edges. You try to blink them away. 

"This species may be light-sensitive," comes a smoother voice from some distance. "Cover the eyes."

There is something compelling about that distant voice, even half obscured beneath the white noise of pinging instrumentation and clinking metal. Footsteps move about, each stride focused and orderly. You try to count them, but after the third, the figures dissolve from your thoughts as you move from one to the next. 

Some type of cloth, near-liquid in texture and weight, is draped over the upper half of your face. Your world descends into darkness, and you are grateful for it. There is a pleasantly heavy feeling trickling through your body, seeming to pull you down into the flat padded surface beneath you. 

The coolness of the cloth is soothing against your skin; even more so, the warm hand that settles over your cheek. The mask apparatus shifts, pressing more firmly. "Inhale, please," prompts a pleasant voice from above, and you comply without a thought. Heavy air descends into your lungs. 

The soft voice above rewards your obedience, murmuring: "That's it… back to sleep, now." The soothing touch remains at your cheek as another hand rests its gentle weight over your forehead. “That’s right. Just breathe.”

Only then does it finally sink in just how  _ massive _ these hands are.

Your heart thumps in alarm, defying whatever chemical cocktail you have been breathing. The hand on your head seems to engulf your skull from brow to crown; the other, still cupping your jaw, rests its fingers around the back of your neck. What  _ are _ those titanic shadows you saw looming over you? Clearly, they cannot belong to your own species - not even to your  _ world.  _

A flutter of fear pushes up through the haze. You make an attempt to move. Your heavy limbs are at least slightly responsive - shifting just enough for you to finally notice the straps holding them in place. 

The hands lift from your face. Their owner, that soft voice, makes a hum of concern. "Subject is… still conscious, it appears."

It is the smoother, more distant voice which replies: "...Interesting." 

Footsteps approach. Their heavy metallic clicks sound far different from the softer steps around you. The smoother voice is closer this time, clearer; even at a near-whisper, its timbre draws your attention like a compass to a magnet. You cannot help but strain to listen.

"Mark down for the logs… species has an unusually high chemical resistance. I suspected as much."

The clicking footsteps move closer, to your right. Something brushes one of the straps on your wrist; your hand reacts with an involuntary twitch. The voice gives a low rumbling chuckle, and leans in close… close enough, at last, for that resonance to melt into you. 

As it does, you melt with it.

"You  _ are _ a willful one, aren't you?" purrs this divine voice from above, melodic and sweet. The sound drips over you with near-palpable richness. "Yes… all creatures, no matter how small, may provide... unexpected insight.”

Warmth flutters in your chest at the idea of being useful to this grand being. To...  _ Him. _

The cool pressure lifts from your lower face; your next inhale is clean, free of the heavy sweetness of the sedative. The cloth remains over your eyes, a comforting silky weight; yet, despite the darkness, you can somehow  _ feel  _ the Presence leaning over you. 

In the breath that follows, there is a slight scent of ozone, like the winds that herald an oncoming thunderstorm… and then, that hypnotic voice is  _ very  _ close. 

"Follow my voice, small one…" comes that smooth purr, distractingly near to your head. "Can you feel this?" 

Softly, ever so softly, something cold and sharp traces down your right forearm. Your fingers twitch slightly in response. You make an attempt to reply, but no sound emerges from your throat. 

"I see." The beautiful voice retreats as He speaks softly to another. "This level of chemical resistance is  _ remarkable.  _ Take a sample for analysis."

A moment later, you feel a pair of massive hands wrap around your left arm: one turning the forearm upwards, the other easily encircling the upper arm with a firm grip. You try to whimper, but again your voice simply will not come; it is too weak. 

The captivating voice returns. "Poor creature… you must be terribly frightened.” Once again, a hand settles over your head; this time, that warmth is offset by a streak of cool metal. Somehow, you know: it is  _ His  _ hand. There it is, that slight scent of ozone again - clean, sharp, electric - before the voice leans in. 

“I am here, my small one. Soon, you will be safe in My light.”

You manage another whimper, and in a grand feat of strength, tilt your head slightly towards the right - towards that reassuring voice and its warmth. He coos in approval, and the weight of His hand moves in comforting strokes over your head. “Yes, that’s it... you're doing so  _ well…” _ Another hand rests across your collarbones and upper sternum, pressing gently down, anchoring you with its huge span. 

“Now… since I have not yet studied your species’ sensitivity to  _ pain…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I got a little carried away in chapter 2 and ended up exploring Needle Anxiety in rather squicky detail, for hurt-comfort purposes. Feel free to skip it if uncomfortable; I will include a brief summary in the opening notes of chapter 3.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW FOR THIS CHAPTER: A prolonged blood draw pushes the Reader into a minor anxiety attack. Sinister yet satisfying hurt-comfort ensues. The sensory descriptions are quite detailed, and deliberately disturbing, for hurt-comfort purposes. 
> 
> Needles squick ME out. Why did I do this. Why am I like this.

You feel the straps at your left wrist release. Something cool and wet swipes over your exposed inner arm in precise, practiced strokes. This time, a tiny noise manages to crawl from your throat. 

You try your best to focus all your attention on the warmth of His touch, stroking your hair, your sternum. But the grip of those huge hands on your stretched-out arm pulls at your awareness - the points pressing slightly against your skin - are those -  _ claws?  _

Yet another hand appears, fingers pressing into the delicate skin of your inner elbow. "Inhale, please," comes that soft pleasant voice again to your left. 

Despite that warning, the sudden bite of pain draws a reflexive flinch. Firm hands hold your arm still, but the rest of your body is free to cringe as deft fingers anchor the needle in place. 

"Does this hurt you, small one?" murmurs the captivating voice to your right. The broad hand, with its streak of cool metal, moves softly over your head. "For the sake of data, I ask that you assist us. Listen carefully..." 

Slowly, His other hand slides up from your collarbone to your throat. His fingers find the column of your pulse, and rest there - as if claiming it. You swallow beneath the gentle touch - and then - that slight scent of ozone, sharp and electric - and the whisper of His breathing plays over your ear - 

"You will open your pain to Me," He murmurs. 

Something tightens in your chest, pulling an involuntary shiver through your body. The smooth, mesmerizing purr continues in your ear: "I wish to know every detail of what you feel. You will not suppress your response. Do you understand?" 

A weak whimper makes its way up to your lips. You want so badly to do the opposite, to be brave for Him. You  _ ache  _ for this divine being’s approval - for Him to admire your resilience, your strength - and yet - and yet. Despite the steadying hand encircling your forearm, every twitch of your pulse is an unnerving reminder of the needle’s intrusion. Threads of irrational anxiety wind up through your chest, into your throat. The pain is hardly significant, but even so - with your vision obscured, with nothing else to focus on - your nerves are beginning to unravel. Your quickened pulse gives a heightened awareness of that sharp length's alignment, threaded so precariously into the fragile vein. 

How much of your blood do these beings mean to extract? How much more might be lost, if those steady, clawed fingers slip? Is this light-headed feeling from the fading sedation, from blood loss, or simply your own squeamishness? You struggle to steady your breathing. Frustration seeps in alongside the spreading pangs of apprehension.  _ Why  _ must something so small cause such a crawling sense of  _ threat? _

Those light fingertips press just slightly beneath your jaw; your pulse flutters against them, its quick pace betraying your distress. Against your ear, there is a low, throaty chuckle - with a slightly sharpened edge. “Oh... how  _ lush.  _ Perhaps you have more than just pain to give Me…?”

Then, the warmth of His breath is gone. 

A whine of protest crawls from your throat before you can stop it. Something about the lingering effect of the drugs makes it harder to control the minute little reactions of your body: your unsteady breaths, your trembling fingers, and your mounting pulse forming a feedback loop of tension around that throb of discomfort in your arm. You try to move, craning your head towards the warm Presence to your right, but that only sends a little stab of pain deeper beneath your skin. You pull in a tiny whimper; the grip around your arm tightens, and the massive hand on your forehead presses firmly down. 

Your remaining limbs are beginning to ache, as unbidden tension tugs at the straps. You cannot hide how helpless you feel… and something in that sweet resonance makes you not  _ want  _ to hide. “That’s it…” He coos from above, in that rich, majestic purr. “I know you are frightened, little one. Give unto Me your fear… let Me hold it for you… let Me  _ taste  _ it.”

Your breath hitches, shuddering. You feel His hand slide beneath your head, lifting it, as the other strokes the side of your face and neck. The tugging pressure in your arm is spreading into a deep ache… your head is beginning to swim, as your breath unravels into quick, sharp little gulps… the edges of your dark, obscured vision are beginning to sparkle in time with your pattering heart… and yet… there is radiant heat seeping into your upper body, like comforting rays of sunlight. Could it be  _ Him _ leaning over you? 

“You suffer beautifully...” He murmurs, just above your face. 

The frayed, tight-wound tension in your throat is the first to break. A low whine emerges, wavering, needy. Then, that warmth  _ envelops  _ your upper body and head - and everything else gives way.

His arms are the calm eye of a hurricane, his body the darkened sky; his warmth descends around you. He smells of thunderstorms, of meteors, of rippling volcanic stone cooling in the rain. Of cataclysm, and catharsis. 

“That’s it…” purrs His voice, as shivers overwhelm your body. The sound rumbles through you, resonant, somehow soothing your unsteady gulps of air. “Yes, it’s all right. Focus on Me, now… it will be over soon.” 

His arms slide beneath you to pull you close against His warmth. You crumble into His scent, shaking, high little noises escaping you - smooth skin against your cheek, rumbling with His purr - His enormous hand, cupping the back of your head - a tug, a twinge - you wince, whimpering into His chest, and He coos above you, stroking through your hair - and then, the needle is gone. You sag with relief. Every part of you feels drained, as if far more than blood was pulled out of you. Your frayed nerves have come apart like molecular chains in an enzyme’s wake. 

"Oh, my small one, you did  _ so _ well for Me…" croons the resonant voice against you. "Such  _ delectable  _ ...data.”

Another cool swipe, and at last, the hands lift away. As soon as your arm is released, He gathers it into His embrace. The hand over your head slides down, sweetly stroking your face, caressing down the side of your neck with the backs of His fingers. “Yes… a reward is in order, don’t you think? Something a little more potent, to help you relax.” 

You hear a  _ click _ above your head, and a soft metallic hiss, as if a steel cobra is coiling around you. The massive hand slips beneath your jaw. Cool metal presses up, gently but firmly, tilting your head to the side to expose your throat and your fluttering pulse. But that enormous arm still enfolds your upper body, holding you close to His engulfing warmth, His purr; you have never felt so small, so powerless, so… secure. 

“That’s it… be still, now…” His hand moves to enclose your jaw in a steady grip, the warmth of skin offsetting the smooth streak of steel. The soft hiss approaches your ear, and the scent of ozone sharpens. There is nothing you can do, nothing you would  _ want  _ to do, but accept His gift. 

A flash of pain stabs into the side of your throat. Reflex tries to jerk your body away, but His firm hold keeps you still against Him; your ragged gasp is stifled against His chest.

“Just a moment of pain, my small one, and then you shall suffer no more.” His voice is as soothing as ever, sweet and smooth, showing no sign of effort at restraining you. As he speaks, the piercing pain in your throat begins to spread - you cannot help but struggle, weakly, helplessly, to no effect - sharp little cries catch in your throat - and then - the sensation begins to morph into something else, something ...warm.

You give a shivering whine as the pain withdraws, leaving only that warmth in its wake. Another  _ click  _ above your head, and the soft hiss fades… and now, the warmth is blooming through your body, tingling, almost thrumming… or perhaps that is His purr, as He wraps you in His arms. 

The hazy thought occurs to you, as you melt for Him, that - despite this incursion being  _ far  _ more painful, more violent, than the one just before - well... it just felt so much  _ easier  _ this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, Prime is an absolute bastard who clearly gets off on your suffering. But hey, snuggles = Worth It. 
> 
> This was rather cathartic to write. I'm not *awful* with needles IRL, but I apparently had some buried Feelings to process... [cough].
> 
> Chapter 3 will be mildly steamy :D


End file.
